User blog:DB Baxter/Nightloom - The Arrangement
Volemar Adus rested his head in the palm of his hand, watching the men up on stage move set pieces around with a vacant stare. With the performance nearing its end, he was struggling to keep himself awake. He pressed on, however, determined to make it all the way through. He glanced up into the night sky to count the stars as he waited for the finale. Under normal circumstances, he would have gotten up and left this event a long time ago. This play had been dreadful, from the terrible acting to the mind-numbingly awful writing, to the vomit-inducing costumes and backdrops. It was simply a mess. The one thing that was saving this performance from being a complete disaster, however, was his son. Draelar Adus was the man in the leading role, and was single-handedly carrying this show on his back. He was the only one, it appeared, who could act. The only one who could sing. The only one who cared about the production. And because of that, Volemar pitied his son. This wasn’t the path he had wanted for Draelar. Volemar was a wealthy nobleman, who had assembled his wealth through both legal and shady dealings. All of which he had built to stand the test of times, all of which he had obtained so that his son, and the ones after he, may hold the same power and wealth that he had held. The Adus legacy was to be preserved, but that plan had taken a hit with his sons interest in the realm of theatre. It wasn’t detrimental to the plan. Volemar’s and wife were still capable of bearing children, and there was plenty of time for Draelar to fall out of love with the dramatic arts. So for now, Draelar had the blessing of his father to pursue his dream. And Volemar had to admit, his son did play up to his talents well. He had a great set of pipes on him that expanded his range of notes tremendously. He was an excellent dancer on stage, and always put himself 100% into the character and scene. And that was on display here as he was the only one in this performance that was trying to make this thing work. The final act of the play had just begun. In the story, one of an Altmer man named Vailul Faethius trying to live his life peacefully in the Nordic city of Windhelm, the protagonist was about to be put to death to an accusation which the audience knew wasn’t true. Volemar didn’t much care for it, as it was nothing more than bad propaganda put out by the Thalmor. But, he hadn’t said that to his son, who was fortunate enough to land the lead role for such little experience in the industry. Volemar was marched out onto the stage by two Nords in dented, overused steal armor with the Windhelm Bear painted onto the chest plate. They’re helmets were off so that everyone in the audience would know that they were evil, vile Nords. They barked something at him, something about how he’ll be sent to Oblivion and probably something about the superiority of Nords. Volemar could barely make out what they were saying due to a combination of being so far back in the audience and the fact that the Nord’s accent was too thick. It didn’t matter much. Draelar was placed down at the very edge of the stage, with a glazed look in his eyes as he scanned over the faces in the audience. His eyes locked with his fathers for a moment, and he felt a twinge of pride knowing that his father hadn’t left yet, but he maintained his professionalism and continued on with the scene. He began to give his monologue, a rambling speech that was filled with the victimization of Aldmeri Dominion races, and the demonization of Skyrim and the Empire. As he did so, a long row of Nords marched out across the stage, armed with weapons and standing perfectly still. Midway through Draelar’s speech however, someone plopped down next to Volemar, irritating the nobleman. It seemed that manners in this place were a lost art. Although, this play was designed more to educate the peasants and uneducated about the ‘subjugation’ of mer to men, so he supposed that there wouldn’t be many respectful audience goers. “You know… that Draelar kid is a damn fine actor,” The man next to Volemar said. “Really pulling this thing to the finish line, ain’t he.” Volemar’s heart sunk down into his stomach as he recognized that voice. Suddenly, he was snapped out of the realm of boredom as his eyes widened in fear. He dared to glance over to his right, and he caught just a glimpse of the man he had hoped he would never have to deal with again. Sure enough, he could see his dark blue skin in the light of the candles that illuminated this nighttime production. Spread across his mug was that ominous grin. A grin that sometimes would be the last thing people saw before they were violently killed by way of a knife cutting through every inch of flesh on their body. “Oh, it’s you!” Goriyn exclaimed gleefully, but he kept it down so that Draelar could proceed with the monologue. “How’s the wife and kids, Stallion?” Volemar quickly rose to leave, but Goriyn quickly stretched out his hand and sat him back down “Shhhhhh, don’t make a scene,” He warned with a slight chuckle. “We don’t want to be disrespectful to the actors, do we?” Volemar glanced back to his son, who was still doing his monologue. “I thought you were in prison…” He murmured. “Oh, I was. But you of all people should know that there isn’t a cell in this world that can hold Goriyn Mortis,” The Dark Elf shook his head. “You’ve been there for 3 breakout attempts, Stallion, I thought you would know this.” “Stop calling me Stallion,” Volemar swallowed. “I’m not that man anymore.” “And it’s a damn shame that you aren’t,” Goriyn replied. “You know, I liked you a lot better when you had that beautiful mask on and broke people’s shins when they pissed you off, then left ‘em in a swamp for the gators. You remember those times?” “I do. But those times are gone…” Volemar said shakily. “Please, leave…” “Oh, but I can’t leave yet!” Goriyn said. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for weeks now, Stal, and I can’t let this opportunity slip up,” “Goriyn, we can arrange a meeting,” He said. “Look, I’m just here to see my son performance. I don’t want any trouble…” “Ah, yes, your son. The leading man,” Goriyn glanced back up to the stage. The lights were starting to dim as Draelar prepared for the final musical number. “He’s quite lucky that he got that role. I had to pull quite a lot of strings to get that to happen.” Volemar froze. “What are you talking about?” “They didn’t want to give the part to them. Too new, not enough experience, they said! They had some other man up for the role, I think his name was Kharlium. I did some convincing, threw the right people the right amount of money. And unfortunately, Kharlium never came for call backs. I heard the poor bastard got lost in a mudslide somewhere…” Volemar gripped the sides of the bench, fingernails driving themselves into the wood as his breath quickened. “Why…” “To get myself a bargaining chip, of course!” Goriyn said, as if it was obvious. “I asked myself, what do I bring to the negotiating table for a man who needs no money, no further expansion of power, and has no need for any enemy to be disposed of…” He nodded up to Draelar. “I had a hand in some of the other castings, as well. I wanted this production to feel genuine, you know what I mean? So who better to play the part of a few guards of Windhelm than a few former Stormcloaks?” The Dunmer grinned and gave a little wave to the men up on stage. The men who all had a weapon pointed at Draelar. “And you know those Stormcloaks…. Never have been a big fan of Altmer, have they?” “Goriyn, no….” He said, realizing the predicament his son was in. He wanted to jump up, scream, tell Draelar to make a run for it, but he knew that would only seal his fate. “You… you wouldn’t dare…” “Oh, I wouldn’t dare to kill your son…” He smiled. “But, those rabid dogs up there…. Well, you know what happens when you toss a piece of meat to a group of rabid dogs, right?” Volemar’s leg were shaking. He swallowed and asked “Okay… Okay, what do you want?” It was then that the song began up on the stage. Draelar, standing at center stage, with chains wrapped around his wrists and ankles, began to sing with the accompaniment of a lute. Close the door, keep out the storm Far away, far away… “I know a man in your position can put down a few names to the guards around Thalmor lands and they’ll send those bastards off to prison faster than you can say bribery…” Goriyn began. “You want someone jailed?” Keep the need-fires burning til dawn, Oh, leave my soul… “Not someone. Some people,” Goriyn said. “I need you to gather up a few men and women, preferably some mercenaries or warriors, and arrange for them a passage to Nightloom. It’s as simple as that.” “Nightloom?” Volemar furrowed his brow. “The super prison?” “The same…” For the cold will come this night Far away, far away… “Why do you need me to do this?” Volemar continued. “You’re perfectly capable of rounding up an army!” “Ah, ah, watch the temper,” Goriyn warned him. “I don’t want to have to cut this song short because of your tantrum…” The High Elf glanced up at his son. Frost will fall, and Ice will bite Far away, far away…. Volemar calmed himself, and took a deep breath. “Okay… Why do you need me to do this?” “I’ll be in prison while you’re doing this,” Goriyn said. “I’m leaving for Nightloom tomorrow.” “What?” Volemar spat. “You’re willingly going to that infernal island?!” “Indeed, I am,” Goriyn shrugged. “My men have recovered some… very, interesting documents from Thalmor offices. And I find myself all of a sudden very interested in taking a vacation there …” Oh, leave my soul Please pass me by, when the evening falls… Volemar would have called this man a madman if the circumstances of this ‘negotiation’ were different. “Okay, Mortis. I’ll make the arrangements for you and the people I find-“ “No, just the people you find!” He corrected. “I’ll make my own arrangements! Besides, I have a friend to lure out of the darkness.” “Who?” “The Nightingale.” Oh, blessed are we The Taker of Souls we shall see On Thi-is day! Volemar frowned. “The Nightingale is a myth…” “If that’s what you choose to believe then so be it,” Goriyn said, propping his feet up on the empty bench in front of him. “I don’t need your confirmation on his existence. I just need to know if you can round me up a few good men, can you do that buddy?” I can hear the Hunter’s hounds Far away, far away…. Volemar nodded, hoping the song wasn’t coming to a conclusion soon. “Yes, yes… you have my word, I’ll get you those men to Nightloom. Just… let my son go unharmed, okay?” “Of course, Stally,” Goriyn said, rising to his feet. “It’s been good catching up with you, my old friend…” “Wait…” Volemar said. “If I can ask… what’s on Nightloom that you’re after?” Goriyn smiled from ear to ear. “Something beautiful.” He looked up to the men on stage and gave them a signal. “You and your son are a lucky man this night, Stallion… but they’re not...” Volemar stood up, his heart beat quickening. “Who?” Goriyn was already heading for the exit. With a shrug, he said “The first row.” As he said that, the men with spears ran across the stage, barreling past Draelar and hopping down into the audience. The audience barely had time to scream out in pain or fear as they were quickly mowed down by the Nords. People were lifted into the air, blood pouring from the open wounds in their stomachs. The people behind them ran for the exits, shrieking in terror. Volemar struggled to see past the waves of people running past them. He could see his son running from the stage and for the doors as well, and luckily, the men ignored him. He could see crimson-covered spears being raised into the air and driven down relentlessly into the people who couldn’t make it away in time. He gritted his teeth and made his way for the door. He would find his son outside, hopefully. He could already hear guards just outside, drawing their swords and barking orders. For now, he would play Goriyn’s game. But already, he was calculating his plan to strike back against the Dark Elf. Nobody messed with The Stallion, or his son, and got away with it. Category:Blog posts